Out of the Blue
by terriblemuriel
Summary: Santana gets slushied and finds herself turning to someone that she never thought she would to deal with her feelings.
1. Chapter 1

When it comes, Santana is shocked but not surprised. Ever since she quit Cheerios, she's been half expecting to get a slushie to the face, but as it's been a few weeks since she took her uniform off for good and nothing happened, she's gotten complacent.

There she was, walking to trig, not thinking about anything other than her unfinished homework and the hole in her heart that has yet to close even though it's been several days since it was rent open, when the icy beverage slams into her face. For a moment she can't breathe, it's so cold it hurts. She gasps and stops, stunned, right in her tracks. She brings her hands up to wipe her stinging eyes and turns to identify her attacker.

Dave Karofsky isn't surrounded by his usual henchmen and he isn't laughing. He is alone and holding the tell-tale empty Big Quench cup and as he passes Santana he doesn't say a word. His hard glare meets her eyes and that is all it takes for her to know _why_ it happened. This attack isn't about Cheerios or Glee club and it isn't about being Latina or even a girl. No, none of those differences warrant him giving _her_ a slushie facial. This is about hatred on a much more personal level. This is about both of their greatest fears.

Karofsky sneers as he throws the cup to the ground. His eyes are like flint, hard and stony enough to spark a fire, and Santana feels them burn on her skin more than the icy syrup that is currently dripping down her face and neck, settling into her cleavage. Suddenly the quiet that enveloped them both is gone. The moment of shock passes and the halls erupt in nervous laughter. Titters and whispers surround Santana as she moves purposely away from Dave and toward the restroom. Several students snap pics with their phones before she can escape. The moment for revenge passes without her even giving it a thought. So much for Brittany's faith in her ass-kicking abilities: maybe she can think up some vicious vicious words later, but right now her mind is blank. She can only think of one thing and it is to run away. Away from Dave and his vitriol, away from the talks and the looks of her peers, away from the hole in her heart.

Unfortunately, all of those things shadow her. Well, Dave doesn't literally follow her to the bathroom, but as she stands at the sink trying to clean herself with wet paper towels (why can't the school provide tissue that is not one step away from actual tree bark?) his look haunts her. If she closes her eyes she can still see it burning into her, so she keeps them open, ignoring their sting. She hums to herself to keep the sounds of the laughter and taunting at bay. But neither humming nor scrubbing proves effective enough to stop the tears that threaten or the panicked breathing that turns into sobbing.

What she wouldn't give to have Brittany at her side. But the blonde is not a part of her life anymore, not in any of the ways that she was. Not as a friend, not as a lover, not even as a teammate. As she weeps, salty tears tracking through her blue-stained cheeks, Santa knows that all of her fears are coming to fruition. The loathing, the teasing, the talking behind her back, these things have just begun and knowing what she knows about McKinley High, there is no end in sight. She was willing to risk them all when she thought she'd have Brittany by her side, but now? Now, she knows that this is not worth it. But what choice does she have now? Apparently, her secret is out.

After Santana cries herself out and cleans as much of the slushie as she can off her face, neck and chest (damn slushie ruined a good bra). She takes a deep breath and steels herself, knowing she has to go back out there. She also knows she's going out there alone. There's no Brittany at her side, no Cheerios at her back. It's just her and every ounce of Lima Heights attitude she can muster.

"Fuck."

That deep breath she just took leaves her lungs, her body deflating like a balloon. She can't. She just can't. No Brittany, no Cheerios, and an entire school hungering for her blood. She has no one. She _is_ no one. Suddenly, she's on the verge of tears again. She never realized that being herself meant being so alone. She never realized that being herself would ever be this hard.

When it comes, Santana is shocked, but not surprised. The urge to reach out for help is anathema to her. It's not what she does. But somehow she finds the cell phone in her hand, her fingers touching the number she never in a million years thought she would call.

"Hello Kurt? It's Santana. Can we talk?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: My sincerest apologies to the handful of people who alerted this fic. I've had this chapter sitting on my desktop for months (literally) because I was too lazy to edit it. But I also couldn't stand the idea of leaving something unfinished, so here it is. I originally had a third chapter planned, but decided it was better to end things here as a) it might be months more before I got around to posting it, and b) I felt like the time for this fic had passed.**

**Thank you all for reading and special thanks to my beta, ****jeune fille en fleur. Read her stuff, it's amazing.**

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><p>Santana stands in front of The Lima Bean with her hand in her pockets as rain drips from her soaked hair down her neck and under her jacket. She's been standing here for ten minutes, getting wetter by the moment, thinking that she's made a terrible mistake. Now that the trauma of her slushie attack has passed and she is staring at the cold, icy reality of being an outsider her whole life, she is pretty sure she does not want to do this.<p>

Taking a final deep breath before she turns to leave, she glances once more into the coffee shop. Though it is crowded, she sees him sitting in back, his usual mocha in hand, chatting animatedly. Santana can't see a face through the crowd but has no doubt that he's brought that uniform wearing, sissified boyfriend of his. This is not what she wanted, to be ganged up on by homos. Didn't he understand her at all when she'd said that she needed to speak with him about something of a "personal nature?" No way is she having this conversation with anyone's big gay posse. Nope, she is outta here. She only takes about ten steps before her Rachel Berry-inspired diva storm out is rudely interrupted.

"Santana?"

She's caught. Taking another deep breath, she turns and exhales his name. "Kurt."

He stands there smiling in all his sassy, gay glory holding a copy of the Lima Times over his head, sheltering his perfectly coiffed hair and uniform jacket from the Ohio drizzle. "Are you going to stand out here in the rain all day or are you going to come inside like a sensible person? Your hair is already beyond poufy and I can't imagine that your leather jacket isn't dry-clean only."

Santana is already spoiling for a fight. She's cold, wet, angry, and the sight of him brings back the old bitchy Santana and she's instantly right up in his face, hissing, "Kurt, I told you I wanted to talk to you in private. I didn't tell you to bring your warbling little butt-buddy along for the show."

Kurt gives her a hard look and steps back, turning for the entrance.

Realizing her mistake, Santana reaches for his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm sorry. Please don't go. I didn't mean that, okay?"

"Santana, if we're going to have any kind of a dialogue, I'm going to need to know that you can keep a civil tongue. I don't have to put myself through this, you know. But you sounded so serious when you called. Please don't make me regret my decision." He returns her very bitchy glare, and her gaze falls, ashamed. Santana seems to be saying a lot of things she regrets these days.

"Kurt, I mean it. I'm really sorry. In fact," she takes a deep breath, clenching her fists and shoving them deeper into her pockets while she looks up at Kurt. "I'm sorry for… just, everything. I know you and I haven't always seen eye to eye while we were in Glee club and I'm sorry if some of the things I said were, well, a bit hurtful. I know I've been a bitch to you, and well, a lot of people, but I'm actually trying to change that about myself."

"Wow, an apologetic Santana Lopez. I'm not sure I know how to respond. Why the new leaf?"

"Let's just say that some things have happened recently to caused me to reevaluate my life and my choices."

"And those would be?" He actually has the audacity to look suspicious.

"Well, Brittany started dating Artie, Puck starting dating Lauren Zizes, Quinn, Britt and I quit the Cheerios, Rachel Berry told me my only future was working on a pole, Lauren kicked my ass in the hallway, I started dating Sam, I told Brittany I loved her, I sang a song with Ms. Holiday, and I gave Finn and Quinn mono. Oh, and we all joined the celibacy club."

"Damn, I miss all the gossip! I'm going to have a word with Finn about his priorities. He hasn't told me any of this, all he wants to talk is football and video games, and... wait, what?" His head snaps back to Santana, trying to read the truth in her eyes.

"You told Brittany you love her? As in love love her?"

Santana stares off into the rainy distance, chewing her lip, before she finally gives Kurt a single stiff nod. His eyebrows shoot in the air and although he looks like he wants to say something so badly, he restrains himself. Instead he reaches out slowly to grip Santana's wrist, gently pulling her hand from her pocket and toward him until she is forced to turn in his direction.

"You finally told Brittany that you love her?" Again Santana gives him a stiff nod, this time raising her head to meet his eyes. His smile is contagious.

"Yeah," she says, holding back the barest hint of smile. "But you don't seem too surprised to hear it."

"'If sex were dating, Santana and I would be dating.' Not exactly the kind of statement that one just forgets. And I'm sorry, but you guys might think that you're subtle, but you're not. I may not be an expert on girls," Santana cocks an eyebrow at this, "but even I know that 'just friends' don't touch each other as much as you guys do. Nor do they look at each other with quite that kind of… shall we say, intensity." Well, so much for keeping that a secret. Santana drops her eyes as she tries to pull her hand from Kurt's and turn away. He tosses his paper and tightens his grip on her hand, not allowing her the escape she so desperately wants.

"Santana, look at me." He pulls her arm back toward him and reaches out with his other hand to cup her chin, lifting it so their eyes meet. "I'm proud of you for being honest with her. I'm even more proud of you for being honest with yourself."

Santana jerks her head away a little harder than she'd intended causing Kurt's hand to fall. "Yeah well, it doesn't matter. She said she didn't want to be with me."

"What? You've got to be kidding me! I may not know much about girls…."

"You said that already," Santana snarks pulling her hand sharply from his grip.

"… BUT I do know that that girl lives and breathes you." He tugs her hand back into his, pulling it up to his chest where he grasps it with both hands. He sighs, realizing that they are now both standing in the pouring rain and that he is holding the hand of a girl he formally despised who is on the verge of tears. He softens. "What happened? I want you to tell me everything."

He pulls her over to a bench by the door of the coffee shop. A bench that, they both happily acknowledge, is under cover. Santana sighs as she sits and turns to look at Kurt. When their eyes meet, she can see that there is no animosity there and it somehow makes this discussion easier, like the weight of what she's here to say isn't quite as hard to bear as it used to be. She takes a deep breath and blows it out, unable to speak.

" You don't have to be afraid, Santana," he says. His voice is calm, his eyes are searching and his hand still grips Santana's like a vice. He trying so hard, but she's still uncertain. She wants so badly to be brave like he is, but instead she just feels small and defeated and very very wet.

"Nothing you can say will change what I think about you." He's trying to encourage her with that warm smile, with his soft, accepting eyes.

"Not even that I'm _maybe_ not as big of a bitch as you thought I was?"

"Well, maybe that. But I'm holding out for the details before I make my final decision." This causes Santana to snort and relax for the first time since she's arrived at the Lima Bean. She gives Kurt a wry grin.

"Now spill, girlfriend. And I mean everything," Kurt says, grinning right back.

"Kurt: I'm gay."


End file.
